


they are electricity running through my soul

by scoutshonour



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Monster of the Week, No Angst, Polyamory, monster hunting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-14 22:21:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15398781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scoutshonour/pseuds/scoutshonour
Summary: "Shape shift," Nancy says, sounding amused as she tightens her ponytail. "That's new.""And horrifying," Steve adds, but there's a casualty in his voice that wouldn't have been there, say, a year and half ago, the first time he was in Jonathan's house.God, Jonathan can't wait to leave Hawkins and bring Nancy and Steve with him.(or: Jonathan, Nancy, and Steve's date is interrupted by a monster)





	they are electricity running through my soul

**Author's Note:**

> alternative summary: I love these kids and they deserve the WORLD and each other bye 
> 
> this is for stoncy week, day 1: monster hunting!! I doubt I'll do every single day, but I have two ideas that I'll get out ... sometime lmao. also, I finished this three days ago and u know how hard I had to physically restrain myself from posting??? 
> 
>    
> ALSO title is from Georgia by Vance Joy, but I switched the she to they since. u know. polyamory.
> 
> ALSO ALSO this is a repost bc/ since this was a draft it had the wRoNg date + was buried underneath a few other fics.

Jonathan's never felt more at peace than with Steve's head in his lap and Nancy's head resting on his shoulder. 

Of course that's when there's a knock on the door.

They all glance at each other, panic beginning to unsettle them. Who the fuck could that be? His mom's working. Will's with Mike and the other kids. Hopper's at the station. Neither Steve's parents nor Nancy's parents—Karen would have called first—would show up at Jonathan's house unexpectedly like this. He's also pretty sure that Steve's parents don't even know that Jonathan  _exists_.

"Who is that?" Nancy asks suspiciously. It's the firmness in her voice that Jonathan's in awe of. He doesn’t think he could ask that without his voice breaking. She raises her head from Jonathan’s shoulder, already sharpening.

There's another knock, a gentle rap against the door. Jonathan hates that he nearly flinches.

Steve sits upright, reluctantly disentangling himself from Jonathan and Nancy. He stares at the door, blinking rapidly, the corners of his mouth curving into a frown.  "I mean ... those things don't usually have hands, right? It's probably one of the shit heads. Maybe they need to get something."

Jonathan pauses the film they were watching with shaky hands, setting the remote down on the floor. He slowly stands up to his feet. Steve's probably right. Monsters don't have _hands,_ and even if they did, they wouldn't politely and casually announce themselves before attacking them with the intent to kill. Right? 

Jonathan says with more casualty than he feels, "I'll get it." The thought of how this is awfully similar to the beginning of every horror film _ever_ comes to his mind, but he knows better than to say that out loud. 

"Don't die," Steve whispers, half-joking, half-serious.

Even now, while he thinks that he might get attacked, his mouth still cracks into a smile. "I'll try not to." He swallows every nerve in his body and walks towards the front door. Before he can change his mind, he swings it open.

Nothing.

He squints, looking around, but there's still nothing in sight.

"Who is it?" Steve calls out.

"No one?" What the hell? Jonathan looks around again, casting his eyes downwards, and—

A few inches away from him and the front door, he spies a lumpy, twitching thing that he would consider to be an injured and/or dirty animal if he didn't know what he does today. It's not a frog, but it looks like one. Instead of green skin, it's covered in black and white stripes. Its eyes blink up at him. Innocent enough. It doesn't lunge at him or attack him. Just sits there.

Jonathan's shoulders sag with relief for one second. One good, peaceful second where the Upside Down doesn't exist. Where monsters aren't _real._ Where Will and all of his friends have been and always will be safe. Where he can have a nice, _uninterrupted_ time with the girl and boy he's pretty sure he's in love with.

But it's just _one_ second, after all, and it passes too quickly when the thing's tongue darts out. The pink extends five feet up towards Jonathan, its white stripes immediately turning black. He’s not sure if he's imagining the way it shifts, becoming an inch or two taller, because alarms start to sound off in his head.

While his brain shuts down, his panic acts for him, slamming the door shut before it can get inside. The slam reverberates throughout the small house. Jonathan whirls around, his face white, and he sees similar expressions on Nancy and Steve's faces.

"Jesus," Nancy spits out, her eyes worriedly scanning Jonathan. Her mouth presses into a thin line and she jumps up to her feet. "What the fuck? What was that?"

"I don't know," he says wearily, "and I _don't_ really want to know. We were having a nice movie night. Can't we, you know, just continue?" He's kidding. Kind of.

Nancy stares at him with an eyebrow raised, a hand braced on her hip. "We can't finish the movie if that thing kills us," she says with a hint of amusement.

"And if Jonathan keeps talking so much," Steve coughs. 

"I wasn't talking _that_ much."

She smirks. "Sure you weren't. Look, I have a gun in my bag."

"You _always_ carry it in your bag—"

Nancy ignores Steve, reaching for her bag set down by the sofa. She looks through, and with the sound of a latch being undone _,_ she pulls out her gun from a black case, holding it with ease and familiarity. "Was it big?"

"No." He rifles through the mess of magazines and bills and newspapers on the coffee table for a weapon,  _anything_ he can use. He spies one of his mom's lighters and feels more put-together, squeezing it between his fingertips. "It was small. Frog-like."

"Frog-like," Steve repeats testily, covering his face with his hands. He groans. "So can't we just like. _Step on it_ and kill it."

"It knocked! It—it's _tongue_ shot out of its mouth and it was long and. And." He stops, taking in a deep breath. He can't freak out. He's done this before, he can do it again, and he needs to do it _calmly._ "This thing is weird. I think it can shape shift or something."

"Shape shift," Nancy says, sounding amused as she tightens her ponytail. "That's new."

"And horrifying," Steve adds, but there's a casualty in his voice that wouldn't have been there, say, a year and half ago, the first time he was in Jonathan's house.

God, Jonathan can't wait to leave Hawkins and bring Nancy and Steve with him.

He straightens his back in an attempt to find more confidence than he feels, thumbing the lighter. The lighter, the gun, the bat: they've all worked before. It'll work again, he reminds himself. "Well? What're we waiting for? This thing's going to—"

_Knock._

"It'd be polite if it wasn't so horrifying." Nancy squeezes her gun and cocks her head towards the door. "Steve," she says, her voice softening, "where's your bat?"

"In the back of my car, along with my lighter," Steve grumbles, shooting an apologetic look to Jonathan and Nancy. Jonathan tries to ignore the flutter in his chest at Steve's _my lighter,_ how he considers the bat and lighter his, parts of Nancy and Jonathan he'd kept with him from the very beginning. There's some poetry in there that he can't dissect right now, but he likes how it sounds.

Nancy's also noticed it, judging from her pleased half-smile.

"Shit. Shit, shit, _shit._ ” Steve starts pacing back and forth, disheveling his hair and making it even messier. 

"Hey, hey, it’s okay," Nancy says, "it's not like you should have prepared for a worst case scenario when all we had planned was a movie night, anyway. Don't worry about it. We're going to be fine."

Steve visibly lightens at that, the hand in his hair lowering while he nods in agreement. Then, like a switch, his face screws up in determination and his pacing becomes more deliberate, less antsy. "Maybe we can lead it out, away from the front porch? I can grab it, real quick, you two distract it, then _bam—_ "

"Okay," Jonathan interrupts. He doesn't want to hear it _knock_ again and wants to get this over with as quickly as possible. "Yeah, yeah, do that, bam it to hell, please."

He knows what needs to happen next. But there's still that same twinge of hesitation and anxiety constricting his chest that he's starting to believe will never cease no matter how many times they fight and kill monsters. Something that he's going have to get used to and learn to get over before flinging into battle.

Jonathan logically knows that they'll be alright. Half a dozen random occurrences have happened since Eleven/Jane (Jonathan's not entirely sure of what to call her) closed the gate, stray creatures—that were relatively harmless but still had to be dealt—with crawling around town.

There was never anything alarming or on nearly the same scale as the Demogorgan or even the Demodogs. They'd been dealt with swiftly and easily. Like when a few weeks ago, Lucas found and killed a flying rat and on his way to their house. He'd brought it along to their house and stole Jonathan and his mom's appetite as they ate lunch. Or a month after Eleven/Jane closed the gate, Hopper found a cobra-looking thing that extended to twenty feet snaking through the forest. He shot at it until it twisted and died. They'd been small-scale, _not_ life-threatening whatsoever. No injuries, no trauma, no danger.

He has no reason to worry. But he still does. 

"Hey," Steve says, his eyes darting between Nancy and Jonathan, warm and soft and comforting. "We're gonna kick its ass, okay? We still have our date to continue. Just ... think of it as an extension of date night."

Nancy's smile, one of confidence and preparedness, unintentionally loosens the tightness in Jonathan's face. "Date night. Okay. We can work with that. We'll try to kill it, and if we can't, Jonathan, you'll set it on fire and send it back. And as a prize or whatever, we'll let you ramble on throughout the movie some more."  

"Like you weren't already letting me," he says easily. He smiles at Nancy like it's the only thing he knows how to do. But when his heart still pounds a little, he continues more seriously, "We've got this."

"We've got this," Steve and Nancy echo, like a mantra.

Nancy, Steve, and Jonathan share a smile, and he's not sure if it's a _we're-in-love_ smile or _we're-about-to-kick-ass_ smile, but it makes him feel more prepared. He's seen Nancy with a gun and seen Steve with his bat before. With monsters against them, the monsters are currently at a score of  _zero._ It's going to stay that way. 

"Plus it'll only take like, five minutes, and then we can go back to cuddling. You two are my favourite pillows and what better way to celebrate killing a fucking monster, right?" 

Jonathan imagines the three of them sprawled out across his sofa, Steve hanging off their laps, and his fingers interlaced with Nancy. The thought makes him smile. 

With them by his side, Jonathan feels braver. The three of them have a good track record and have always made for a solid team, not only in monster hunting. Now is no different.  

Plus, they have each other's backs. It's unspoken, but it's there. Jonathan can hear it, and he knows they hear it too.

Nancy aims her gun at the front door. Steve stands directly in between of them, his arms outstretched and his hands curled into fists. Jonathan feels a little stupid with his lighter, but hey, it works. "I'm going to open the door on three. One...two...three!"

Jonathan swings the door open and the thing's still there sitting there, appearing exactly the same as it was minutes ago. It stares up at them with beady, cold eyes. It doesn’t move, strangely still.

"Um,” Nancy’s voice cracks, gun faltering ever so slightly. “I feel like something's supposed to ha—"

In a flash, the toad-thing morphs, multiplying in size and thickening until it towers over them by a feet or two. It doesn't faze them, not one bit, until it opens its mouth in their faces. It attacks them with a rush of ice-cold air as it screams. Just fucking _screams._ What the hell do  _they_ have to be screaming about, anyway? What part-time job or chemistry test or traumatic event gives them this right? Jonathan's dealt with  _much_ _more_ terrifying and traumatizing shit than  _this thing,_ and he's not going around, murdering everything in sight.

 _He_ should be screaming.

Well, he is screaming, the three of them are—him and Steve, specifically, Nancy yelling _shut up_ at the monster—but not to release stress. It's more like to release  _some_ of the confusion and terror of such a loud, abrupt sound. 

The thing sends spit flying in what feels like every direction, shooting globs until their faces all drip. Jonathan hopes it's not poisonous or something, because he has a Calculus test on Monday, dammit.  

"Get in! Get in!" Jonathan screeches. He hears the scattered footsteps of Steve sprinting outside, past the absolute _mess_ of monster-spit by the front door, and feels relief that he's out of harm's way.

Nancy narrows her eyes while the thing crawls forward into his house, like she's just _waiting_ for it to try something.  

Jonathan  yanks on Nancy’s arm to reel her further in. He recognizes the fierce determination on her face. He's hit with adoration and complete amazement because of how she’s standing her ground and completely unafraid in the face of danger—which really, isn’t the most helpful feeling to have considering the time and place. And how he almost trips on his retreat further into the living room because of it, awe-struck and smitten like he's been since the first time he saw her with a handgun.

Nancy takes a smooth step backwards, drawing the _thing_ into the house. Once it’s a few feet away from the door, she points her gun at it and fires without hesitation. It stumbles backwards, leaving a wet trail underneath it.

It pierces his ears with a mind-numbingly high wail. He winces.

She’s got it covered. Though he’s not the slightest bit worried, concern still creeps into the back of his mind, _ohgodpleasebesafe_ and _I'mnotlettinganythinghappen to you._ He draws a flame from the lighter and carefully holds it out in front of him. He’s not taking any chance of this thing hurting either Nancy or Steve.

Nancy fires once, then twice at the thing. It hisses and shifts again with another scream. It becomes thicker, larger, and—

"Yellow?" She shrieks. "Why the _fuck_ is it yellow?"

Jonathan's never eating a fucking lemon again. Not when the thing has transformed into a bright, yellow, and round ball of pure horror, with sharper teeth, and the same, hungry eyes.

Dark sludge rolls down its shapeless sides, blood probably, and for a brief second, Jonathan and Nancy take in its eight feet and how its head reaches the ceiling. It vaguely and strangely enough reminds Jonathan of a highlighter. You know, a highlighter that's a few feet taller than you and wants to kill you.

Jonathan gapes, at a loss for words. There’s something about a neon-bright, yellow monster that is so inexplicably wrong, and what the _fuck_ —

Nancy continues to shoot it repeatedly, wounding the creature momentarily. It coughs and recoils in response. “Jonathan,” she shouts, “this is taking too fucking long, you need, you need to—”

He knows what she’s telling him to do before she gets it out, her shout focussing him through the alarm he feels. He jabs the lighter towards the creature, and it’s pleasing when it flinches, stopping dead in its tracks. Jonathan’s about to set the damn thing on fire (with a silent apology to his mom, along with a promise to fix the damage that’s sure to come with _lighting a monster on fire in their living room)_ , because despite Nancy wounding it, it's still not _dying_ , it's _still_ growling at him like it wants to bite his head off—

Barging in through the front door, Steve screams, “What the _fuck!?_ ” His eyebrows pull together and his jaw hangs open at the sight of the creature. He _rams_ his bat into it anyway, over and over again. Steve's fear is directed into focus with another hard hit of his bat, and pride swells in Jonathan's chest.

The thing shrieks in agony, twisting and turning in its spot.

“We’ve got you now, asshole!” _Whack!_  The thing bends over. It curls down with a decrease in a half-foot of height. Its yellowness dims, its brightness dwindling.

Steve swings his bat at it again, and with a strangled cry, another half-foot of height is gone. The yellow of its skin continues to drain and it starts to become sickly-looking.

He knows Nancy gets it, but Jonathan shouts, "Keep shooting it!" anyway.

She shoots it right in its centre, making the thing buck over and whine. She continues her line of fire as she advances closer. 

The three form a triangle around the monster while it shrinks down a foot in height with a strangled cry, breaking down right in front of his sofa.

It’s the constant and alternating pain from Nancy’s bullets and Steve’s nails that doesn’t allow the thing any time to heal and bounce back with an attack or another shift. With the two beating the monster into smallness again, it withers away, slowly dying and shrinking down.

Jonathan pants, calming down. He pockets the lighter while he watches Steve and Nancy slowly but surely kill the thing. He wearily examines his living room, and it’s not as ruined as he’d thought it would be. Its blood, the dark sludge, stains a good chunk of the floor and walls, but there’s no real damage that can’t be solved with some basic, brief cleaning.

“Sorry I took so long,” Steve exhales. He gives the thing a lacklustre hit. “My hands kept shaking, couldn’t get the damn trunk open, but—”

“Hey,” Jonathan interjects softly, “don’t worry about it. You both did really well, _and_ you both killed it. Or _are_ killing it…? This thing is taking forever to die.” He’d prefer if the thing went out with one _bang,_ not prolonged minutes of Nancy and Steve half-heartedly and tiredly beating it into a pulp. 

"We should almost be done,” Nancy murmurs. Her pull of the trigger brings it down to two feet, turning the thing white.  “This is strangely therapeutic. We're definitely going to a shooting range for our next date." She's utterly calm, a definite contrast to their combined screaming from mere moments ago.

"Why can't every time be this simple?" Steve sighs almost longingly, proceeding to wham its head. Now it's at a foot and a half. “I mean, preferably, there’d be no _next time,_ but fuck. It’s just. If this shit’s gonna keep bothering us, I want it to be this easy and quick.”

" _Since_ this shit’s going to keep bothering us, it better not interrupt our date night again." She doesn’t blink as her bullet knocks it down by another foot. "So fucking inconsiderate." 

They can’t help it; Jonathan and Steve laugh. It’s a product of slight exhaustion, of the daunting yet quiet, common knowledge that this might not ever be over, the fact that holy _shit,_ that piece-of-shit turned yellow and changed sizes, and that this really happened. That a creature lingering around Hawkins having entered from a gate, closed by a psychic and serving as a literal portal to an alternate dimension, interrupted a date between Jonathan Byers, Steve Harrington, and Nancy Wheeler.

Jonathan’s not sure how their lives became _this_ entangled mess, but there are a few things he wouldn’t change. Hunting monsters, quite obviously, isn’t one of them.

It pulls a chuckle out of Nancy until she’s full on laughing. They stand there, crowding around a dying, shape-shifting creature, laughing hysterically. Because even though t's not funny, in that moment, it isfunny to them _._ And because this is their life, and maybe—no, _really_ —it’s okay because they have the kids, Joyce, Hopper—the only adults in Hawkins who are competent and who don't treat them like they're over-exaggerating, angsty teenagers.

And of course, they have each other.

It’s a blip of softness in the middle of chaos, chaos that isn’t really chaos anymore because they’re kind of, unfortunately, getting used to it. But that just proves they can _handle it,_ right? That they can protect themselves and each other, no matter what comes their way. That’s what Jonathan at least chooses to focus on.

As the laughter quiets down, Jonathan takes the opportunity to examine Nancy and Steve carefully. He resists the urge to gently tilt their chins up and properly check their faces for any injuries, settling on searching for any with his eyes.

They both have black drops of liquid, the thing's _spit_ he realizes disgustedly, haphazardly painted across their cheeks and hair. Nancy's ponytail is messy, strands of hair displaced. The bags underneath her eyes that were faint before are a little more prominent. Steve's hair is somehow frustratingly _and_ admirably still in place, save for a drip of sludge on the top of his head. But they’re both okay.

Jonathan's kind of amazed that none of it got on any of their clothing, until he looks down and notices a large circle of black _gunk_ staining his shirt.

"What the fuck," he mumbles. He tentatively presses his finger against the material and wincing at the dampness. He wrinkles his nose. He _liked_  the shirt a lot. 

“Yeah, we need to shower, we all look _and_ smell like shit,” Nancy says, “but to be sure, is that thing dea—”

Cracks rip through the air as Steve beats the creature continuously, stopping only when its weak, fragile breaths come to an end. “If it wasn't before, it is now,” he rasps. “Sorry ‘bout that. Like Nance said, it’s therapeutic. Good for pent up rage, which these days—” He blows out a breath of air. “Well. You know.”

“First things first." Nancy wipes and subsequently smears the black drops mixed with sweat across her face. She turns around, sets her gun down on the coffee table, and promptly marches back to them. “C’mere.”

She pulls Jonathan in with one hand, and Steve in with the other. Steve’s bat falls to the floor as soon as he reaches to hold them both.

Their arms tightly wrap around each other until the three are as close as possible. For the first few seconds, it’s a clash of awkward, uncomfortable positioning. But like everything else, they adjust, shifting to make it work. Nancy buries her face in Steve’s chest; Steve’s chin rests on her head; Jonathan’s hides his face in Steve’s shoulder. He blindly reaches for Nancy and their entwined set of hands press against the small of Steve’s back.

It’s the smallness of the gestures that Jonathan loves, little touches that really mean everything and say about a million things that he can hear through the physical contact. _I’m glad you’re safe. I’m here. I’m not leaving, not going anywhere. I love you. I love you. I love you._

In their embrace, he's showered with unadulterated love and protection. He soaks it all up from the kiss Steve presses on the top of his head before he does the same for Nancy, to the way she rubs her thumb across Jonathan’s knuckle. He presses his face into Steve’s neck and squeezes Nancy’s hand, hoping they feel the same he does in this moment. 

They're two of the few people who'll ever really understand what he's gone through, and it means something to him. Jonathan's always kind of wondered, late night thoughts for when he can't sleep, if they'd be what they are if the Upside Down didn't exist. If he'd mean anything to them. If Steve would ever be more than an entitled jock or Nancy, the perfect, privileged girl. If he'd ever had the opportunity to see through the surface, of what he _thought_ they were. 

But it doesn't really matter, does it? Circumstances may have brought them together, but there's only so much that shared trauma can do to sustain a connection. He often tries to remind himself that Steve and Nancy are here because they want to be, because they actually like him. In moments like these, it's hard to forget. 

He’s exhausted. But he’s also filled with warmth as they slightly sway back and forth, breathing each other in, and bringing each other back down.

Maybe one or ten or twenty minutes later, Steve pulls apart and asks,  “Are you both okay?” 

Nancy’s face flushes with crimson as she and Jonathan disentangle themselves from each other. 

“Uh-huh ‘m fine,” Nancy answers, the steadiness in her voice relieving Jonathan.

Jonathan nods. 

Nancy and Jonathan immediately follow with their own, concerned, “Are you—“

“Yeah.” He shares a tiny smile with Nancy, then one with Jonathan, his eyes shining. It’s how the smile reaches his eyes, the relaxed sagging of his shoulders, and the stillness of his hands that Jonathan knows he means it.

“You two kicked some serious ass, you know," Jonathan says, biting back a smile, "I’m really impressed.”

“Oh, when are you _not_ impressed by us?” Nancy says, bumping his shoulder with hers.  

“For starters, whenever you guys choose the music in _my_ car and have the audacity to play _Journey—_ “

Steve gasps, and Jonathan can’t tell if he’s serious or not. “There are so many things _wrong_ with that sentence.”

“The only wrong thing here is your music taste, or really, your lack _of_ music—“

Steve grins that lazy, easy grin that Jonathan loves. Then he’s pulling him towards himself by his waist, and Jonathan is honestly have a difficult time _not_ kissing him. (He's not doing it just because they're all kind of gross right now, and mostly because there's still a dead creature that's stinking up his living room. Not really a romantic setup.) “I think we can all agree that generally speaking, I have _incredible_ taste.” 

Nancy snorts, watching them with a smile. "He's not wrong _._ "

“You are _so_ not flirting your way out of a rightful call-out, even if it’s kinda working—“

“ _Shit!”_ Nancy blurts out before darting off to the landline, her fingers rapidly dialling.

Jonathan tenses. “What?” 

“We need to call Hopper—and, and—the _kids,_ if anything happened—“

Jonathan’s stomach folds in on itself. He hadn’t even thought about them, if maybe, if maybe they’re hurt, or if something came after them. There hasn’t been an instance of _two_ monsters on the same night, but this is _Hawkins._ Anything could happen. It’d be delusional and downright stupid to think otherwise.

“They’re fine,” Steve insists, but he's paling, his arm limply dropping from Jonathan's side. "They _have_ to be fine. They would've called us or came over, and, I mean, it's _them,_ they're pretty fucking resourceful, and El could kill, like, _ten_ people in a second if she wanted to, and Lucas with his slingshot, and Dustin—"

"Something happened," Nancy breathes into the line, her voice shaking.

Steve and Jonathan fall silent, holding their breaths. 

Nancy swallows. Her eyes suddenly become glassy, and they immediately step towards her. They both reach out to press their hand against her arms. She’s trembling, but stops after a few seconds.

"But, obviously, we're okay, it's dealt with. Yeah, no, we killed it. It doesn't, it doesn't _look_ like there's more than one, but you should probably come see it. Are you busy right no—oh, yeah, don't know why I bothered asking. We're at Jonathan's, just us three. Yeah, yeah, okay. Thanks. Bye."

She ends the call, quickly dialling again.

"What did he—"  Steve starts to say, but Nancy speaks into the line again.

"Hi, Mrs. Sinclair, is it okay if I talk to my brother for a second? Oh, everything is fine, I just—I really need to ask him a question. Thank you so much."

They're all holding their breaths a little, and, very clearly and loudly, Jonathan makes out Mike's voice. "It's not ten o'clock yet, I am _not_ going back home—"

"Oh my God," She laughs a little, clapping a hand over her mouth. Jonathan is definitely not imagining the tears in her eyes. "You're okay. You're—good. You're, you're good."

"Why wouldn't I—did something happen?"

"Yes, no, don't—don't worry about it, okay? I'm fine. We took care of it."

"Are you sure, I can come home, it's not a big—"

"No, no, I'm good. I'm not at home anyway. I'm at Jonathan's place with him and Steve."

"Ew, gross, you didn't have to mention _that_ —"

"Mention _what,_ you shit-stain, I literally only said—" She stops. Shakes her head and chuckles. "Never-mind. Look, you should be okay tonight. We killed the thing, and it's all okay now, but. But be safe, Mike."

"Yeah, of course. I'm glad you're okay, Nancy. I'll see you at home."

"Wait," Nancy says loudly before Jonathan can, "Can you pass the phone to Will, too? So Jonathan can talk to him."

Jonathan's eyebrows lift up in surprise, skin tingling when Nancy shoves the phone into his chest with a small smile. He takes the phone into his hands, watching Steve rifle through his kitchen pantry, swiftly pulling out a box of tea packets. 

Nancy follows Steve, propping herself up on his kitchen counter. She hooks her legs around his waist and reels him towards her, tucking her face into the crook of his shoulder.

He's already smiling when Will says, "Jonathan, are you okay!?" and his smile only grows larger.

"Hey buddy, I'm fine! I'm good. There was a—a monster, but we took care of it. I just wanted to make sure you're okay. I was gonna call mom after."

"Oh, she's fine, I just called to ask her if I could sleep over." _Oh, thank God._ Jonathan's so relieved he could cry, and he does cry a little as Will tells him animatedly about how their game is running longer, how El doesn't really know the rules but she's still winning, how relieved they all were that Max could stay over. Hearing Will's voice, hearing him talk with the grin in his voice, hearing him talk about his friends with the carefreeness and joy that ever kid deserves—

He's so happy for him. He's so happy that his mom's starting to get better, starting to smile more, sleeping more than the few hours following everything. For once in their lives, everything feels good. He's going to hold onto that for as long as possible.

"Jonathan! What's wrong?"

He pulls the phone away, dabbing at the corner of his eyes. Jonathan looks up, seeing Nancy hugging Steve from behind as he prepares three cups of tea. She trails kisses down his shoulder, smiling against his skin, and he laughs, his cheeks red.

"Nothing. Nothing at all."

 

 

 

 

 

Hopper arrives five minutes later. Steve's in the middle of talking to Lucas over the line, having spoken with Dustin and Max beforehand, and quickly hangs up to help Nancy and Jonathan explain what happened.

Hopper listens without saying much. When they're finished, he assures them that he'll take care of _it._ He takes the creature's body with a grimace out the front door towards his car.

Steve mumbles, "he's just going to leave that in the back of his _car?_ "

Nancy lightly elbows him to be quiet, and Jonathan tries not to laugh.

He walks back in, surveying the room until his eyes land on the three of them. "You guys okay? Honestly."

"Yeah," Jonathan says honestly. "We're okay." 

"Good." Hopper opens his mouth, then shuts it a few times. Finally, he shakes his head and says, "You did good, all of you. You're _doing_ good. Don't think I could've dealt with this kinda shit so young, and the way you're handling it...you shouldn't have to, God, you shouldn't have to, but you're doing your best. And your best is pretty damn good." Hopper coughs suddenly, and he straightens his back. A smile flickers across his mouth and he leans over to pat Jonathan's arm. "Tell your mom I said hi, why don't you? I didn't get to see her this week, our dinner was cancelled 'cause I had a lotta paperwork. I'll see you guys."

He doesn't need to see Steve and Nancy's faces to know that they're touched. Jonathan feels grateful for the reminder. He's also a little flustered, the tips of his ears reddening, not sure how to respond to something so genuine.

He walks him to the front door. "Bye. Have a good night."

Hopper smiles again. "You too."

Jonathan waits until Hopper's driven off to close the door. He turns around, confused by the huge grins on Nancy and Steve's faces.

"Holy shit, I knew it," Steve exclaims.

"What?"

"Seriously, Jonathan? How are you not—your mom and Hopper had a dinner planned!" Nancy says.

Oh. He thinks about it, _really_ thinks about it, and then— "Finally."

They drink their tea on Jonathan's sofa, laying together, their bodies entwined. The quiet is comforting, filled with small gestures like the hand Nancy has carding through Jonathan's hair and the lines Jonathan traces on Steve's thigh.

"Now that we’re finished our tea, who wants to shower first?" Steve asks through a yawn, sliding his legs off of Nancy's lap. There's no suggestion of shower sex. They’re all tired, and the shower in Jonathan's house is too cramped. They'd tried it once, but it was too small for them to focus on anything other than how little space they had to breathe.

"Me or Nancy first," Jonathan answers automatically, "'cause you shower for thirty years."

"I'll be quick! Seriously," he adds at their pointed looks, "why wouldn't I want to be finished showering as soon as possible when we're so definitely going to cuddle afterwards?"

"Cute, but you're still going last," Nancy says. She kisses his scoff away. 

Steve already has a pair of sweatpants from one of the times he'd slept over, and Nancy borrows his mom's clothing. Or at least he thought she would. She ends up being the last to shower and comes out into the living room, wearing _his_ clothes. A torn, tattered t-shirt and a pair of boxers.

Seeing her wearing his clothes and Steve wearing one of his shirts is something else entirely. He has no idea how to voice how much he likes it _._ He settles on fervently kissing the hell out of her her when she sits next to Steve, then kissing the hell out of him. 

"We should steal your clothes more often," Steve hums, hooking one arm around Jonathan's neck, the other around Nancy's. Nancy hums in agreement as Steve continues saying, "You look ridiculously adorable in Jonathan's clothes, by the way."

"You do, too. Though you look cuter without a shirt on. And _you,_ " Nancy reaches across Steve, pressing her hand flat against Jonathan's chest. "You're just ... cute."

"Smooth."

"Shut up. I'm _complimenting_ you."

"My bad, my bad. Thank you. And you're really cute, too. You both are. I _strongly_ support the both of you wearing my clothes, very much. I also support you not wearing any clothes—"

Steve laughs, "Okay, that was a _little_ smooth, I’ll give you that," while Nancy huffs, "you basically ripped me off."

They curl up on Jonathan's sofa, continuing their movie: Cinderella. They're laying off anything with action or horror or jump-scares for the time being. Plus, Steve had let it slip that he loves Disney movies the week before, and Jonathan had already known that Cinderella was Nancy's favourite animated film. He figured it'd be the perfect choice for their movie night. 

"Did ya know," he says, during the part where the clock has struck midnight, "that Jaq, Gus, and Bruno were all voiced by the same ac—am I talking too much?"

"No," Nancy and Steve say at the same time.

"Keep talking." She takes the hand he has resting on her thigh into her own. 

"We like hearing you talk," Steve adds, his thumb dragging down Jonathan's jaw. "And where else am I going to learn movie facts?"

He blushes even harder when Nancy leans forward to nip at his neck encouragingly.

"C'mon," Steve urges, "hit us with another fact about the animation style or something."

They're all sleepy when the movie ends. Nancy's parents are out of town with Holly, Steve's are out on a business trip per usual, so Jonathan happily drags them into his bed for the night.

"You sure your mom's gonna be—" Nancy's cut off by her own yawn as she takes up one end of the bed. "Is she gonna be okay with us here? When she gets back in the morning?"

"'Course. She likes you guys. She'd have you here all the time if she could." Jonathan climbs in next to Nancy, sighing contently when she drapes an arm around his chest. He kisses her forehead, then shuts his eyes. 

Steve turns the light off,  shuffling onto Jonathan's bed. "We'll clean the living room tomorrow, when we wake up," he murmurs into Jonathan's shoulder. His arm reaches across Jonathan, fingers settling on Nancy’s waist.

He's ready to drift into a peaceful slumber, surrounded by two people he holds close in his heart, the steady and reassuring sounds of their breathing in his ear. This has to be the best way to fall asleep. But in his half-awake state, he mumbles, "Hopper's right."

"Hmm?" Nancy's breath ghosts his neck.

"We're doing our best and it's pretty fucking good." Jonathan's not sure where this is coming from, but he wants them to hear it. Wants to tell them, over and over again, during every nightmare or bad thought or tear. Wants to hold them and  _care_ for them for as long as he can. Steve and Nancy deserve good things, and fuck it—so does he. 

"Yeah," Steve agrees softly, kissing his shoulder blade. "We are.”

"And it is,” she says. She slings her leg over his, extending over to Steve’s thigh. “Get some sleep, okay? We'll be here in the morning."

He knows this, logically, but it still means a lot to him when she says it. That they're here now and that they _will_ be here. It's what makes hunting monsters survivable, because he has people to fight with. 

And he has people—Will, his mother,  _them_ —to fight for. 

**Author's Note:**

> this was SUPPOSED to be fluffy and like. it is. but I got a little emotional and OFC they're just gonna hold each other and make sure everyone's ok and stuff bc?? sure they're kind of used to it but it's STILL emotionally tolling and they just. want the BEST for each other, wow, I'm in such a m o o d today. also, I cannot write action for SHIT hence why the monster-hunting itself was pretty short. but I can write fluff, so I hope I gave y'all five cavities. 
> 
> any who, comments/kudos appreciated! thanks for taking precious time out of your day to read this. have a wonderful day. :)


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